


fulcrum

by meingottlieb



Category: Fables: The Wolf Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Grimm mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meingottlieb/pseuds/meingottlieb
Summary: Bigby gets assigned a partner. She's a little unexpected-- she's funny, for one, and he might actually like her.For two, she's a Mundy cop.





	fulcrum

**fulcrum**

Privately, he can’t believe this shit. It’s not enough that he gets crap on the job from other Fables, but now this? One of the few things he liked about his job was that he could do it alone, with no one following him around or telling him what to do. Now he’s getting saddled with a permanent shadow, someone Bigby  _ knows  _ was sent to keep an eye on him, and to add insult to injury, it’s some non-glamour Fable he’s never goddamn met. With his luck, probably some helpless damn kid who’s never seen anything close to what he sees in a day, someone who thinks working with  _ him  _ is the worst goddamn assignment in all of Fabletown.

Well, at least on that the feeling will be mutual.

Bigby sighs as the elevator around him shudders to a stop, doors whining open, and steps out onto the ground floor.  _ No use putting off the inevitable _ , he thought, padding heavily towards the Business Office.  _ Might as well just get this shit over with. _

Reaching the office door, he opens it and moves inside, catching sight of Snow and Crane, standing around the Deputy Mayor’s desk, talking to some stranger. Snow looks his way as he comes in, and like always, something inside him lifts at the sight of her. Snow smiles lightly as he moves close, and his lips move to mirror the sentiment.

“Bigby,” she says. “The representative King Cole sent has arrived. I want you to meet-”

A hand is extended his way, and Bigby blinks down at it, then up at its owner.

“Jean Vasquez,” a low voice says, calm and confident. “You must be Sheriff Wolf.”

A little stilted, Bigby reaches out and takes the hand, shaking it. It’s dry and smooth, and the heartbeat beneath the woman’s skin is steady, even. Huh. Not usually the reaction he gets when first meeting Fables. Or any time, really.

“Hey,” he says in greeting. He drops her hand, and really looks at her, trying to place her in the many years he’d lived in the Homelands. Her skin is deep brown and smooth, like coffee just dashed with cream, and her large olive eyes are dark and at ease. Her black hair falls in messy slashes across her brow and around her ears and neck, falling just above her shoulders, and she’s shorter than him and Snow both. She’s...compact, somehow, beneath her dark tee and jeans, her stature filled out with a kind of muscle that was rare on a lot of female Fables. The way she stands has a foundation, a strength tying her to the ground.

He doesn’t remember her at all.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to place me as any Fable you know,” Vasquez says, smiling a little ruefully at him. “I’m kind of a new face around Fabletown.”

Bigby raises an eyebrow, filling that information away for later, and shifts on his feet, hands moving into his pant pockets. Crane clears his throat in a pitch that makes Bigby want to wince, and puts on his most dismissive expression.

“As you know, Bigby, the King has ordered additional manpower for keeping the peace here in Fabletown, and Officer Vasquez was handpicked by his Majesty to assist you in your...efforts.” Crane’s last word is spiked with derision, his elongated nose lifting in what he probably thinks is delicate superiority, and Bigby resists the urge to roll his eyes. Beside Crane, Vasquez lifts a thick brow, and Snow looks distinctly uncomfortable. “She’s to work with you to share your no doubt  _ difficult  _ caseload and to keep you in line, and if you value your job, Bigby, you’re going to take her assistance as the  _ King  _ has ordered.”

“I’m sure that Sheriff Wolf and I are going to work fine together, Deputy Mayor,” Vasquez interrupts, and to Bigby’s surprise, her brows are drawn together with disapproval. “King Cole has requested I work with this office to help keep the community safe, and my  _ job, _ ” she emphasizes, “is to work with the Sheriff to help him do  _ his _ .” She looks briefly to Bigby, mouth twisting in a friendly smile. “I’m sure you have things well in hand here, Sheriff. I’m just here to help lighten the load.”

Crane looks like he’s swallowed a lemon. Bigby enjoys it.

“Things can get a little crazy around here. Could use the help,” he offers, an olive branch, and is answered with a smile from Vasquez.

“With your skill and my experience, I think we’ll manage,” she says.

“Experience?”

“Former NYPD,” Vasquez replies. Her hands move to her hips, and Bigby can suddenly understand why she looks more solid than most other Fables. “Been working the mundy beat the last ten years in south Brooklyn. ESU.”

“ESU?”

“Emergency Services Unit. Worked search and rescue, most of the time,” she clarifies. 

Bigby can’t help but feel impressed. So much for the quivering gentle-Fable he’d been expecting. But what he remembers of the mundy police force makes him pause. “Search and rescue? You didn’t happen to work in the...”

“Canine unit?” Vasquez finishes, and her eyes crinkle in genuine amusement. “Actually, yeah.”

He finds himself snorting out loud. Jesus. She chuckles at the sound, with a laugh that’s warm and low.  _ Maybe working with her isn’t going to be so bad,  _ he thinks.

“So you’re used to muzzling mutts, then,” Crane sniffs beside them, and the brief mirth is burned away from his face in a flash of anger. And this is why he’s never in a good mood in the Business Office.

Vasquez turns, the warmth in her face now transformed into something stony. “Deputy Mayor. King Cole sent me here to help Sheriff Wolf with community guardianship and to evaluate the efforts of his office. That includes reports on everything from current status and total progress, to employee conduct and work environment _.  _ Something I trust is to be kept professional for all parties, correct?”

Crane looks briefly gobsmacked, weaselly silver eyes going wide with shock before narrowing in undisguised enmity. “But of course, Officer Vasquez,” he drawls out, and she smiles again, this time her white teeth adding a bit of edge.

“Deputy, sir,” she corrects. “I don’t work for the NYPD anymore. I work for King Cole, and effectively, for Sheriff Wolf’s office.”

Cuckolded by the reminder of her authority, Crane stiffens and nods. “Very well,  _ Deputy _ . If you’ll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to. Ms. White!” He snaps a look at Snow, who visibly withholds a sigh and follows him deeper into the office, away from Bigby and Vasquez. She waves goodbye to the both of them, and Bigby watches her go before turning to Vasquez again.

“You handled him well,” he says, and honestly, he couldn’t be more damn approving.

“I’ve worked with assholes like him before,” Vasquez said dismissively. “Gotta let them know out the gate when they’re over the line. I’m not afraid to write him up for misconduct if he’s going to talk shit like that, especially right in front of my face.”

“He’s hardly the worst I have to deal with in a day,” Bigby grunts. As much as of prick Crane can be, dog barbs are the least of his problems. He shifts uneasily on his feet, a little unsure of what to say. Not used to people stepping in front of shit for him.

“Figured as much,” she says. “Can’t imagine having a past like yours makes your job easy.”

Bigby tensed, hands lifting from his pockets to cross over his arms. “Nope,” he says.  _ Here it comes. The warning, or the fear. Always a toss-up. _

Vasquez raises a brow at him, considering. “Well,” she says after a moment. “I for one am pretty damn glad it’s you working this job.”

Bigby blinks. That wasn’t remotely the response he’d been expecting.

"Word on the street is that you’ve been on the straight and narrow ever since you left the Homelands,” she says. “As far as I’m concerned, that makes you a good guy in my books. And there are a lot of fucked up Fables in this town. We need a Sheriff who can take care of business when shit goes south and still watch his own back. Seems like you fit the bill.”

Bigby stares at her. “I...” He shakes his head once, a little dumbstruck. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” Vasquez says, shrugging, and Bigby can hear her heartbeat. She means it. Bigby doesn’t know what to do with that.

The shrill sound of a telephone splits the air, and he jerks his head to see Snow moving towards the phone, lifting it to her ear.

“Business office,” Snow says, voice pleasant, before her brows come together. “I- yes- hello, Mr. Toad- I- No, he-  _ Mr. Toad.  _ The Sheriff is here in the office, would you like to speak with him?”

“Duty calls,” Vasquez says, inclining her head, and Bigby looks at her for a moment, still a little at a loss for words, before sighing in agreement. He moves to Snow and takes the phone from her pale hand, lifting to his ear.

“Toad,” he says in greeting. “What do you want?”

* * *

Jean looks up at the tenement before her with an unimpressed eye. “Kind of a shithole. Even for the Bronx.”

The Sheriff shrugs beside her, after palming the cabbie some cash through the passenger window and stepping back. The cab pulls away and leaves them standing there, looking up at the crumbling apartment complex. “Lotta fables around here can’t afford much better,” he grunts, looking a little grim.

Jean files that tidbit away, observing the tense look on the Sheriff’s face. “Yeah?” It’s been a long time since she’s been around the Fable community, at least twenty years. 

Things are worse than she remembered.

“Yeah.” He lets out a breath. “Ready to go in?”

“Yep.” Her hand reflexively moves back to brush the taser tucked at her back. The Sheriff catches the movement and watches her, lifting an inquiring eyebrow.

“It’s only a taser. Police issue, magicked for extra kick.”  _ Not that a real gun would stop most Fables. _ “Can put down a Fable without too much of a fuss and no lasting damage. There’s only so much fight I can put up against a lot of Fables out of glamour.” She smiles, a little embarrassed. “Going without makes me feel naked. Ten years as a cop will do that.”

“Right,” The Sheriff says slowly. “I’d say you don’t need one, but to be honest, you never know with some of these people.” His eyes, the color of whiskey sitting in the sun, move to the building before him. “Let’s see what Toad’s on about, then.”

“Right,” Jean echoes. She moves instinctually to his seven as they move up the tenement steps, and if Jean didn’t know better, it wouldn’t feel any different than any other house call she made as a rookie, her partner in front of her, adrenaline kicking in at a low flow through her veins. They go inside without knocking, and Jean is greeted with the sight of a walking frog. Ah. Toad. Out of glamour, clearly.

“Mr. Toad,” the Sheriff says. There’s a bit of a warning in his tone.

“Bigby!” Toad says, looking up at the tall sheriff with some sheepishness to his yellow eyes. “Listen, mate, I know I don't look human. It's a problem, I get it, I just stepped out the apartment for a second to see what kind of damage this drunk shit is doing.” That amphibian gaze cuts to her, and he frowns. “Who the hell is this?”

“I’m a new hire,” Jean says calmly, stepping forward. “Deputy Vasquez. Nice to meet you, Mr. Toad. You’re looking awfully...natural, this evening.”

Toad shrinks in on himself. “Just cut me a break, yeah? I'll get me glamour first thing in the morning, promise.”

“We’re looking at a three-foot toad," the Sheriff says dryly. “In a sweater. That's a problem.” He reaches in his pocket, dragging out a pack of Huff and Puff cigs and tapping one out. He pockets the case and his fingers return with a lighter, flicking the cig in his opposite hand to life and pulling it to his lips. “If you can’t afford to look human, you’re going to the Farm. It’s as simple as that.” Jean watches the Sheriff suck in a breath, the end of his cigarette flaring orange.  _ Smoker, huh? Lucky cancer isn’t a problem for Fables.  _

“You can’t send me up to live with those animals!” Toad protests, clearly offended, and the Sheriff raises an amused eyebrow. “You know what I mean!”

“Go see a witch,” the Sheriff orders, amusement fading. “Get a glamour. Whatever it costs, it's worth it, Toad.”

Toad sighs. “Right, right.”

There’s a yell and the jarring sound of shattering glass, and they both turn to stare through the front door as a TV thrown from the apartment above plummets to the ground and smashes into a thousand pieces.

“Fucking hell!” Toad yells, looking up at Wolf. “This is what I called you about, Sheriff. Do something before he tears up the place!”

“Who, exactly, is up there?” Jean asks, eyebrow climbing. Whoever it is, they’re not happy.

“The Woodsman. Drunk shit’s been on a rampage.” The Woodsman? Her eyes cut to the Sheriff, who meets her gaze with a tired, knowing look. Ah. So they do know each other. Mundy stories get it right, sometimes. “You two just gonna stand there, or are you going to do something about him?”

She looks to the Sheriff. “After you, I guess,” Jean says wryly. He nods, the edge of his lip twitching, and she follows him behind his shoulder as they trail up the stairs. Soon the sounds of a scuffle can be heard, shouts, and Jean tenses when she hears the sound of a woman’s voice.  _ Shit. _

“You’re gonna know who I fucking am, you hear me?” A male voice, vibrating with rage, echoes from down the hallway. “Hey, you hear me?!”

“Just stop, okay? You’re drunk!”

Jean exchanges a serious look with Wolf, and they both nod and move forward. They’re almost to the door when there’s the sound of a fist against skin, a hit, and Jean bites down on a curse.

“Shit,” the Sheriff growls, and leans back to kick down the door with a slam that shudders through the door frame. Jean reaches instinctively for her taser, hand moving around its grip but not taking it out yet, and she watches a towering bald man wield back and strike a young woman,  _ hard,  _ across the face, sending her stumbling back.

“ _ Hey!” _ Wolf shouts, rushing forward, and Jean follows, moving in between the woman and who could only be the Woodsman as the Sheriff pushes the man up against the wall, his hands forcing massive shoulders back.

“What’s going on here?” the Sheriff barks, but is cut off as the Woodsman promptly headbutts him in the face, sending him back a few steps. Without hesitation, Jean draws the taser from her back and lifts it, her aim unwavering. Wolf swears and straightens, wiping blood from his nose.

“Cool it or get fried, asshole,” Jean grunts. The Woodsman levels fevered eyes at her, making her heart pound, but she’s faced down bigger brutes than this guy before. She meets that gaze, mouth a solid line.

“What the fuck are you doing, Woody?” The Sheriff demands, and there’s a quality to his voice that she didn’t hear before, something more guttural. It’s probably from the broken nose. “Stop this shit!”

“What are you gonna fuckin' do, huh?” The Woodsman’s gaze rips from her onto Wolf. He takes a threatening step towards the Sheriff, spit flying from his mouth. "Get the fuck out of the way before you get the axe again!"

Oh, great. Nothing like unresolved history to add some tension. She needs to throw some water on this, fast.

“Hey, Woodsman,” Jean calls, to drag his attention away. Her police training filters through her mind, reliable and strong. “One more step and you’re on the ground thrashing in piss, got it? You need to calm down. We want this resolved peacefully, but if you keep acting like a threat we’re going to respond, alright?”

“Is that a fact?” the Woodsman grits out, slightly slurred. Beside him, the Sheriff is slowly inching his way towards her, something dangerous lurking in his stance as he circles around the Woodsman, and this really doesn’t need to turn into a brawl.

“Yeah, Woody, it’s a fact,” the Sheriff growls, and okay,  _ not helpful. _

“Sheriff,” Jean says lowly. He flicks burning eyes at her, teeth gritted, before something in his brow loosens and he takes a step back.

“You’ve got a shit fuckin’ memory, wolf,” the Woodsman snarls lowly. “That’s not how it went down last time.”

The scalding anger surges back into the Sheriff’s eyes, coloring his irises a fiery amber, and Jean cuts them both off. The  _ last  _ thing they need is an angry Big Bad Wolf.

“Nobody gives a shit about what happened last time,” she says, voice whip sharp. “Both of you need to fucking relax. Woodsman.  _ Back off. _ ”

“Why don’t you fucking try me, you  _ bitch, _ ” the Woodsman spits, taking a lurching step towards her instead. The Sheriff bares his teeth, eyes going wider. Jean flares her nostrils, but doesn’t move. 

“Why don’t I?” she asks darkly, tipping her taser slightly forward just in case he’s drunk enough he’s forgotten she’s holding it, and the Woodsman’s face twitches. She knows the minute he decides to move, his drunken body telegraphing so visibly she’d have to be blind to miss it, which is why the moment he lunges at her-- and the Sheriff arcs forward, intent on stopping him-- she fires her taser dead center at his chest.

Two projectiles go hurtling from her aim and embed themselves into the Woodsman’s plaid-covered chest. There’s no flash of light or electric flare, just the low rapid clicking of electricity as it pulses into the Fable’s body. The Woodsman seizes, a stuttered scream echoing out of mouth, and the man crumples, falling onto one knee in a heavy, terrible thump before crumpling to the ground. Jean’s expression doesn’t change as the Woodsman shudders and shakes on the ground, every muscle in his body spasming before he falls limp.

“Well. That was entertaining,” the woman behind her says. Jean grimaces, flicking a switch that drags back the strings connecting the taser to the unconscious man below her, and drops her aim.

“Some men just don’t know when to quit,” Jean mutters. She looks from the Woodsman to the Sheriff, whose nose is still steadily dripping blood. “You okay?”

The Sheriff is staring at her, jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he says. He sighs, drawing it out, and the tension in his shoulders drops like a curtain. “Thanks.” He eyes her taser. “Pretty good with that thing.”

Jean shrugs. “Point and shoot. Lot easier than my service weapon, and a lot less messy.” She lets out a breath, heart steadying in her ribcage as she returns the taser to her back. She turns to the woman behind her, eyes taking in the red mark blooming on her pale cheek. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Fine,” the woman says quietly, wrapping bare arms dappled with darker, older bruises around herself. Jean purses her lips. She’s seen bruises like those before. Ones shaped like shadowy fingertips.

“What happened here?” the Sheriff says, stepping closer. His eyes are moving across her form, cataloguing just as Jean had done, and his voice, though rough, is not unkind. “Why was he hitting you?”

The woman’s eyes dart briefly away, moving from Jean to the Sheriff to the floor. “A little misunderstanding that turned into a real shit show," she said quietly. “Don't worry. You saw all the best bits.” Her gaze moved to where the Woodsman lay, sprawled across the floorboards, and back to the Sheriff. “Kept asking me if I recognized him. I told him I didn’t. Then he started beating on me, and you electrocuted him. That about cover it?”

“What are you doing here?” Jean asks, taking care to reserve the judgement in her voice.

The woman looks at her, mouth pressed in a line, and away towards the Woodsman again. Something in her green eyes goes distant. “Look, this is just the start of a shitty night for me. I just need the money he owes me, and then I can go.”

Jean lifts an eyebrow, and the woman shakes her head. She steps forward, between Jean and Wolf, towards the Woodsman.

“What are you doing?” the Sheriff asks, watching her but not moving to stop her.

“Getting what he owes me,” she says. She bends down, hand moving expertly to drag a wallet from the Woodsman’s pocket, before cursing to find it empty but for a handful of change. “God  _ dammit _ ,” she says, tossing the coins down in disgust. She sighs, only to gasp and scuttle backwards as the Woodsman stirs.

“Ughh,” he groans, and Jean has her taser out again, flicking a switch to have its battery get ready for another discharge. She needs sixty seconds. “You- you shocked me, you fucking bitch.”

“Shut up, Woody,” the Sheriff grinds out. “You tried to attack her. If you’re smart, you’ll just fucking lie there.”

“You son of a bitch,” the Woodsman says, pushing off his palms to his knees. “This is none of your goddamn business, Wolf. That fuckin’ whore didn’t recognize me, and I’m a fuckin’  _ hero. _ ” The combination of electric charge and alcohol has his massive form teetering as he struggles to his feet. Jean swears. Thirty more seconds. “I saved Little Red Riding Hood from you, you fucking monster. I tore you fucking open, filled your belly full of stones! I threw you in the fucking river so you’d sink to the fucking bottom,  _ that’s  _ who the fuck I am!”

The Sheriff is practically growling beside her, his white teeth bared with a sharpness that she swears wasn’t there before. Shit, her taser’s not ready-

“I told you to just fucking lie there, Woody,” Wolf snarled, and with a roar the Woodsman threw himself at the Sheriff, sending them both hurtling backwards. The Woodsman’s bulk was heavy enough to send the Sheriff falling back, back and straight towards-

“ _ Bigby! _ ” Jean shouts, eyes wide, and can only watch as they collide with the glass apartment window, shatter it, and plummet out of sight. She runs to the edge, eyes bugging, seeing the Sheriff lying limp on the roof of a cab that crumpled like tinfoil beneath his weight. Beside him on the pavement, the Woodsman is lying in a splat of red blood.

“ _ Fuck.”  _ She turns to run downstairs, and sees the woman reaching for an silver axe that’s propped along the side of the apartment wall, her mouth set in stone.

“Good idea,” Jean says, striding forward to take it herself. Whether the woman is a Fable or not, she’s not letting the injured civilian wield an axe on a perp, or run off with the man’s personal property. The woman looks at her, annoyance crossing her face, but Jean doesn’t have time to bicker. Gripping it just below the handle, she hustles down the stairs and out the door, running to the Sheriff.

“Sheriff,” she says urgently, eyes flitting across his body where it lay prone, indented on the yellow car’s roof. Bloody scratches from the broken window trail up his bare arms, oozing red. “ _ Sheriff _ .”

“My car!” Toad is suddenly behind her, standing in the open and staring horrorstruck at the crushed mess of his cab, and Jean swallows a curse. Could this night get worse?

The Sheriff groans, eyes fluttering open. Jean sighs audibly in relief. He tilts his head slowly towards Jean and Toad, gaze a little hazy. “Nngh. Shit. Sorry.”

“Should’ve known when I called you that you’d only fuck things up worse,” Toad mutters, and Jean shoots him a black look before moving closer to the Sheriff.

“Jesus, are you okay?” she asks, holding out a hand. He looks at her for a moment, somewhat uncomprehending, before reaching forward. His hand grips hers tightly and she pulls him up, wincing as the car squelches and pieces of glass fall from his back.

“M’fine,” he says, brow low with pain but his voice even. He drops her hand. “Thanks.”

“Well, at least  _ you’re  _ alive,” Toad says behind her, and before Jean can react a shadow passes over her. She turns just in time to get a sucker punch to the gut that sends her  _ flying.  _ Her back smacks hard into the pavement and she gasps, desperate for the oxygen that was sent rocketing from her lungs, and drops the axe. Pain burns in her chest like a flaming sun, sending her arms curling reflexively around herself in defense, and a roar splits the air.

She looks up through stinging eyes, sucking down air that won’t come, to see the Sheriff launch himself at the Woodsman like a man possessed. She looks away, head briefly spinning with pain, fighting for air. Chasing black spots in her vision, she searches for the axe-  _ fuck, where’s the axe-  _ and fumbles for it, gritting her teeth. The pain is starting to ebb in place of adrenaline, and her body shakes as she works to her hands and knees. She gets to her feet, wobbling, and tosses her hair away to see the Woodsman where he has the Sheriff crushed against a bus stop ad, hands braced against his throat. The Sheriff’s feet are kicking for ground but not finding purchase, and his whiskey eyes are fluttering shut.

_ Motherfucker.  _ Jean grips the axe in her hand and strides forward.

“I know you’re fucking in there,” the Woodsman bellows in the Sheriff’s face. “Come on out, you fucking dog!” Wolf makes a strangled gasp, fingers scrabbling at the Woodsman’s hands, and the brown of his eyes is quickly burning into something brighter, something  _ yellow- _

“ _ Drop him! _ ” Jean cries, swinging back her arm, and she buries the axe in the Woodsman’s head. There’s a foul feeling of resistance that travels through her arms as the axe digs itself into the man’s skull and sticks there, and she lets go of the axe’s handle as the man’s legs give out from under him, his eyes rolling back into his head as he drops his hold on the Sheriff’s throat. 

Wolf sucks down air as his feet hit the ground, ducking down as his hands breathlessly seek his knees, and Jean steps forward, fingers grasping the man’s shoulder and holding tight.

“Jesus,” Jean gasps. “Jesus Christ. You- you okay?”

“Yeah,” Wolf coughs out. “Fuck.” He straightens, one hand rubbing his raw throat. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Jean’s hand moves across her stomach, which is now pounding with a brutal ache. “What an  _ asshole. _ ”

“You guys okay?”

Jean turns to the woman from before, who was watching on the tenement steps with her eyes wide, fixed on the Sheriff. “You’re not supposed to do that, are you? The thing with the eyes?”

“Not if I can avoid it,” Wolf says. There's something in his voice that sounds...guilty when he says that, making Jean frown.  _ He’s the Big Bad Wolf. Why wouldn't he shift if he was in danger, if it kept him alive? _

“Kinda hard if you’re being strangled though,” Jean says, a little bemused, and the Sheriff’s eyes tick towards her.

“...Yeah,” he mutters, looking at her. Jean looks back, brows coming together.

“Think he’s down for the count this time?” the woman asks, and the Sheriff breaks his gaze away to move to the Woodsman.

“Eh. If he knows what’s good for him.” He walks over to the man, and bracing a foot on his back, seizes the handle of the axe and pulls. The Woodsman lets out a strangled moan as Wolf manages to work it free from its spot in the man’s skull, and Jean can’t help but watch with a weird fascination. Fucking Fables. The Sheriff finally manages and tosses the axe aside, before looking up.

“Hey, wait,” he says, voice already back to its normal register, near-strangling forgotten with rapid healing, and Jean turns to see the woman walking away.

“I've got a lot on my plate, Sheriff,” the woman says, but pauses anyway. She reaches and pulls a cigarette from  _ somewhere,  _ and attempts to light it. Her lighter sputters, dry, and she mutters in annoyance. Jean follows as Wolf steps towards her, offering his own lighter. She cocks her chin at him, and allows him to light her cigarette Bogie-style. She sucks down a puff and exhales, and the night is quiet enough that Jean can hear distant sirens and the bustle of the city again. For a while, it had felt like they were somewhere else entirely. 

It’s going to take a while to get used to this.

“Who do you work for, really?” the Sheriff asks. His voice is quiet, even gentle. The contrast is striking when compared to just moments before, against his roar of rage and hatred.

The woman looks at him, green eyes beseeching, before looking away. “These lips are sealed,” she says. “Sorry.” She looks up again, and Jean recognizes that look from where she’s seen it on a hundred harrowed faces. This woman is in desperate need of a rescue, and it makes Jean’s gut twist. 

“Hey,” she says, after a beat. Her voice has only the barest of tremors. “Do you like my ribbon?” She gestures to the pink-purple string tied around her neck.

“...Beautiful,” the Sheriff says, genuinely, if somewhat confused. Jean narrows her eyes, wondering where the hint was. 

“Where did you get it?”

The woman raises her brow, looking from the Sheriff to her, and in her eyes Jean sees a mountain of pain, locked away. “...Nowhere,” she says, with aching sadness, and Jean resses her lips together. She’s in danger, that much is clear, and doesn’t feel safe talking. This is a situation she’s seen play out firsthand, but never with another Fable. But seen it once, seen it a hundred times. Mundies and Fables aren't so different, not when times get hard. Not in New York City.

“I feel like we’ve met before,” the Sheriff says, and he looks the same as he did when trying to place Jean earlier today, only with a greater sadness in his eyes, echoing the look on his face when they pulled up to the tenement. This life, these conditions-- it made the apartment she’d been placed at look like the Ritz. She didn’t know what life had been like for Fables before they left the Homelands, but it had to have been better than this. Where was the structural support for their people? In the shitter just like it was everywhere else? Jean swallowed this with no small measure of disappointment.

“We probably have. We all sort of knew each other at one point or another. But things change, I guess.”

“I guess.”

“What’s your name?” she asks. The woman puffs on her cigarette, green eyes misting over beneath cigarette smoke.

“Whatever you want it to be, sweetheart,” she responds. Jean frowns, and the woman sighs. “Most people call me Faith.”

“Faith,” the Sheriff says, mouth moving questioningly around the word, and Jean can tell from the look on his face that the name isn’t enough for him to place her. Faith smiles painfully at him, before her eyes move behind him and focus on something there instead. Jean turns to look, and swears.

The Woodsman’s gone.

“Shit,” Wolf mutters. He moves, nose crinkling, like he’s going to start charging down the streets to hunt him down, and Faith reaches out to grab his arm.

“Stop,” she says. “We don't have to make any more of a thing out of it than it already is.”

The Sheriff pauses. “Are you sure?” he asks, and Jean’s gotta give him credit: he stops like her wishes really will decide whether or not he goes. Not a lot of people would give someone like Faith the choice. Fewer men, still.

“Eh, he’s had enough. For tonight, at least. Wouldn’t be surprised if he has an axe to grind, though.”

Jean bites her lip and the Sheriff lifts an eyebrow. Faith looks briefly embarrassed. “That...wasn’t intentional. Sorry.” She hesitates, looking down to see her hand is still hovering on Wolf’s arm, before dropping it slowly. They briefly stare at each other, the Sheriff and Faith, and something about it makes Jean’s gut yank. It’s...sad. Faith probably doesn’t do a lot of reaching out in her line of work, or gets listened to. And the Sheriff, well. Jean can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since someone’s touched him in kindness. 

“How much was it he owed ya?” the Sheriff asks after a moment, looking a little hesitant himself.

Faith’s mouth creases down in distant anger and frustration. “...A hundred.” Jean raises an eyebrow. Damn. That’s a lot to owe a pimp back.

The Sheriff follows her line of thought to the letter. “I’m guessing it would be bad for you to show up empty handed?”

Faith gives him a smile that’s brittle. Inches from cracking. “I’ll be fine.”

Wolf doesn’t buy it for a moment. He reaches for his wallet, counting out bills. “Let’s see, I’ve got, uh, twenty, forty, seven- eight. Fifty-eight. It’s all I’ve got, but...”

“I’ve got the rest,” Jean finds herself saying, voice soft. She reaches into her back pocket and scoops out her wallet, peeling out two twenties and a ten and adding it to the pile in the Sheriff’s hand. He gives her a small smile before extending the bills to Faith. “This should cover it, right?”

“It’s okay,” Faith says, shaking her head. “I’ll be fine. You two have done enough, really.”

“Just...take the money, Faith,” Wolf says. She looks at him, and sighing, does, tucking it into her cleavage. Ah. So that’s where she hid the cigarette.

“You guys got me out a bad situation back there,” she says quietly. “Thanks.”

“We’re still gonna need a statement,” the Sheriff says. Jean nods, but Faith shakes her head.

“I still have to drop off...the money.”

“Meet us back at the office, then,” Wolf counters, gentle but insistent.

“It’s a little late for an office visit, Sheriff. I’ll swing by your apartment.”

Wolf lifts a brow. “How do you know where I-”

“You live in the smallest apartment in The Woodlands,” Faith interrupts, shaking her head with some fondness. “Everyone knows that.”

An awkward beat. “...Good to know,” the Sheriff says gruffly.

“You should get cleaned up. You look like shit,” Faith says, and Jean huffs a quiet laugh under her breath. The Sheriff eyes them both, the edge of his mouth lifting.

“Tell me what you really think,” he responded, humor threading through his voice. Faith smiles too, the first real one yet, before it too fades away. 

“Hey,” she says, after a moment. Her voice is slightly hushed. “I need to tell you something.”

Wolf frowns. “What is it?”

She leans forward, as though to whisper something only he could hear, and Jean respectfully looks away. Despite herself, she still catches the soft words she whispers in his ear.

“You’re not as bad as everyone says you are.” 

Wolf blinks and looks at her, and she smiles, kissing him on a scuffed cheek. Jean hides a smile as she walks away, waving. “I’ll see you around, wolf,” she says, leaving the Sheriff staring after her, looking sad as all hell. He sighs, turning to Jean, as Faith disappears around a corner.

“Ready to go home?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Lucky for you, I still have some money left for cab fare,” Jean says, smiling a little. “C’mon, Sheriff. I’m exhausted.”

“Bigby,” he says. Jean pauses and looks at him. His eyes are weighty, brown stones sifted in gold. “We’re gonna be partners, than you can at least call me by my name. People who call me Sheriff...don’t usually mean it in the best way, either.”

_ Not always,  _ Jean thinks, Faith’s face passing through her mind. “Maybe that’ll change,” Jean says quietly. Bigby looks at her, his face edging towards melancholy. She smiles, wishing it weren’t so. “But you can call me Jean.”

His mouth tips. “Alright.” A beat. “You know,” he says, slowly. “You aren’t anything like I thought you were going to be.”

Jean lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah?” she asks. A laugh stumbles out of her mouth, tired but real. He smiles, a little sheepishly, and she shakes her head. “Well. The feeling’s mutual, Bigby.”

He cants his head, huffing an amused breath. “Hm. Yeah.” He looks up at her, eyes warmer than they were before. “Where do you live, anyways?”

“Got a place in The Woodlands, actually. Third floor, three-oh-four.” Her smile turns a little wry. “Haven’t actually seen it yet. Got all my stuff delivered there, but haven’t had the time to really...move in.”

“Huh. Directly above me.” They both start to walk, towards a busier street where they might catch a taxi. “Well...maybe we can get your bed set up, at least so you can crash tonight.”

Jean can’t help but feel ridiculously pleased at his offer, but laughs it off anyways. “Ah, well, you don’t have to do that. Especially not tonight. You just got thrown out of a two story window, in case you forgot. I can sleep on the couch, at least for one night.”

“I really don’t mind,” he says.

“You're sweet, but ask again when we actually get there. You might not be as up for it when the adrenaline wears off and your body starts to yell at you.”

Bigby smirks. “We’ll see.”

Jean can’t help but smile in return, lip curling up in tease.

“Maybe we will.”

Bigby’s golden eyes glimmer in the low light, and she thinks,  _ maybe this job won’t be so bad. _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> lol ik this is self indulgent but who cares?
> 
> i considered continuing this, but my heart broke when they cancelled the sequel game. if there's enough interest, i just might keep writing though ;)


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